


Their Name is Buttercup

by doodlebug_nimbus



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Body Horror, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, Human Experimentation, One Shot, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, References to Depression, Short One Shot, Tragedy, True Lab (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebug_nimbus/pseuds/doodlebug_nimbus
Summary: A sickly sweet scent fills the air. It reminds Alphys of the atrocities she's committed.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Their Name is Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> aw fuck an undertale fic in MY 2020? its more likely than you think.
> 
> this is actually an old idea i've been bouncing around for years. only now have i bothered to publish, now that the fandom is dead.  
> oh well, i hope someone likes this

She resents the fact that she has to return to the true lab every day. Not because she always needs to tend to Buttercup, but because it reminds her: she was the one who created them.

Frisk hadn’t proposed a bad idea—in fact, with the advancements in technology they had made since they reached the surface, it was a very good idea. They wanted to give the six human souls another chance at living.

As she enters the lab, she thinks about the plan again.

No, it was a bad idea. No matter which way one twisted it, there was simply no feasible way to bring them back without the abuse of both determination and save files; the first one, she knows firsthand the damage it can unleash upon monsters alone, and the second…well, nobody was sure of how they truly functioned. Not even Flowey understood.

Alphys thinks over it some more.

Of course, humans are naturally resistant to levels of determination that wipe out entire monster populations. Yet…logically, there has to be a threshold that, once passed, causes indescribable human suffering that can only be equated to morphing into an amalgamate.

It was when they attempted to execute Frisk’s idea that they learned what the determination threshold was for humans.

The worst part? It’s been so long since that tragedy happened she can’t even remember what exactly went wrong or what went down. All she knows for certain at this point in time, twenty years after the fact, is that Buttercup was born from the merging of Frisk, the souls, and Flowey. That’s right, she recalls. He was there too, for some reason. He wasn’t causing any particular problems, besides making obnoxious, constant remarks as everyone scrambled to set up the “experiment”, but nowhere on the level that was characteristically his flavor of wickedness.

And while Frisk is still technically with them, somewhere locked away within the numerous melted, screaming psyches that compose Buttercup’s mind, she still processes the event as though Frisk had died. She can’t help but wonder if that’s how the amalgamates’ families feel in regards to what she had done to them, but she can’t dwell on it for much further.

Amongst the decaying, weathered beds, lies a small pure-white flower. Its petals drip, its shape is a wilted mockery of a golden flower. It shudders as her footsteps echo in the room.

“I-it’s me again,” she says in her most pleasant voice, flinching a little when the flower begins to crack and snap, its form rapidly swelling as Buttercup assumes their true form. The stem splits into multiple, mangled arms and the petals grow grotesque, distorted human faces. Soon the body, long and centipede-like, and the central head, a miserable, warped splice between Asriel’s and Frisk’s visages, take shape. Another face, with flushed cheeks, forms on their stomach while the petals arrange themselves around the “main” head. The transformation is complete once the goat-like tail (complete with a few wiry hairs) emerges, and the rows upon rows of tiny, yellow flowers sprout from their back, emitting that sickly sweet stench that burns Alphys’ eyes. Prompted by Buttercup’s guttural gurgle, she adds, “I uh, I brought—I brought your favorite. You still remember you like hotdogs, right?”

She reaches inside her coat and presents them with one, smiling nervously as every face stares at it intensively. She sighs with relief when one hand shoots out to take it. The faces on the petals mumble and groan incoherently as the main head devours it, seeping that inky, viscous fluid that is all too familiar. Multicolored human hearts, all visibly embedded in various areas of the abdomen, are seen throbbing, twitching against their fleshy confines, and the skin itself is constantly swimming over itself to replace mass that’s melted onto the ground. All of it looks incredibly agonizing.

“I’m…I’m sure you all want to know, how uh, your friends are doing, right?” Alphys takes out her phone, waiting until Buttercup lowers their head to see what she’s talking about. “A lot of interesting stuff’s been happening lately, like this one—oh, I took that last week when Sans took me on that…that skiing trip…ugh, that was terrible. So many people got mad at us…”

A few hours pass as she shows them more and more of the outside world. The faces gradually develop expressions that could be interpreted as contentment, and Buttercup is largely silent, which is a good sign. She feels a pang of guilt after panicking slightly when they try to inch closer to her. They’re absolutely lonely. Being together, but not being able to communicate to each other coherently and painlessly…Every day she thinks about them. How can she not? If she never agreed to Frisk’s idea in the first, if only she politely declined to carry through, if only she noticed something was wrong…Every day she can’t sleep because of what she’s done.

She doesn’t even know how much of the world they’re capable of processing. All of them, the amalgamates, seem to struggle with processing how to breathe, so she can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to try more complex levels of thinking.

They used to be people, with thoughts, identities, hobbies, goals…That’s what truly leaves her restless.

Spending time with them, letting them see their families and friends—it’s the best she can do. Whatever will allow them to feel a little more happy, no matter how vain that in itself might be.

She looks up at them and says, “You know, Toriel’s coming to see you…all soon, isn’t that nice? She’ll treat you all to something real good, something you all deserve…”

Buttercup gives a start, the faces shifting their focus to her. For the first time in a while, they attempt to speak, all in a gargled unison. “T…Tor…rielll? M…ma…maa?”

Alphys gives them a smile. Them referring to her as “mama” is something new, something different. That gives her a sliver of hope. “Yes, that’s right. She’ll be so happy to see you doing well.”

And even so, she knows that Toriel will never forgive her. No one will.


End file.
